Robert Frost has long been one of my favorites poets. His ability to weave metaphysical detail into words is what I love most, and so in tribute to his poem: Acquainted with the Night, I have lovingly penned this.

I am well versed with the clouds of melancholy.

I am aware of the fog that consumes me and spews me out,

I am fighting, though to no avail these ghouls of folie,

I am wrestling with these intentions of mine,

I am ignoring the pitied eyes of the ignorant, covering myself with a cloak of dark design.

I am standing on the knife-blade, confused and lost,

listening for that whisper to guide me out, willing to pay for this whatever the cost.

This feeling of defeat and despair, I loathe it,

but the feeling I know too well comforts me, because its always there.

I won’t escape.

I don’t have the will or the strength.

I am well versed with the clouds of melancholy.